


take the good and leave the rest

by strangetowns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Canon compliant (for now?), M/M, Post-Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: God. He could be anywhere else, if he wanted. Could be in the comfort of his own home to wait for a call, a message, a sign. Could be anywhere in the world.Though even as he thinks it, he knows it’s not true. If it’s really a matter of wanting - well, in those terms it could never be true, could it?There’s a flash of red at the peripheral of Shiro’s vision. Brief, but striking.A sign worth waiting for, is his first thought.-Keith and Shiro talk about the future. Some things they figure out; other things, they don’t have to. Or: what happens after Keith gets out of the hospital.





	take the good and leave the rest

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing to try to get used to the characters before I attempt something longer. This takes place some time after the end of season 7 and is canon compliant up until then, though who knows what will happen after s8 drops rip
> 
> Thank you to [Lyds](https://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com/) for being the best beta reader in the world! Title is from “[Unfold](https://youtu.be/Bby0mdd8Izo)” by The xx.

It’s half past six, and Shiro’s been in the Garrison infirmary waiting room for - a while, now. He’s counted the minutes out of sheer force of habit, but honestly it’s probably not a number anyone wants to hear.

Technically he didn’t have to wait here, in this room he’s probably spent more time in than anyone his age really has the right to. There’s a lot of baggage attached to it. Even if it’s not baggage most people would know about or baggage he has to carry anymore, it’s still there. The walls are blank, bland white flawlessness at first glance. But he’s stared at them enough in a different time of his life - when he was younger and brasher and filled to the brim with a desperate, burning sort of impatience that makes his gut twinge just to remember it now - to know all their blemishes and their cracks. All the history and the lives they’ve outlasted. 

And it’s not a knowledge he feels particularly glad to possess. Years away from this place, years spent waging a war in galaxies humans probably don’t even have names for yet to make sure this building would still be standing when - and he has to admit, sometimes it really did feel more like an  _ if _ \- he returned to it. Years of time and space and none of it made a difference. He still remembers every inch of this room more intimately than he’d ever wanted to.

God. He could be anywhere else, if he wanted. Could be in the comfort of his own home to wait for a call, a message, a sign. Could be anywhere in the world.

Though even as he thinks it, he knows it’s not true. If it’s really a matter of  _ wanting _ \- well, in those terms it could never be true, could it?

There’s a flash of red at the peripheral of Shiro’s vision. Brief, but striking.

A sign worth waiting for, is his first thought.

And other signs, not needed but still registered: 

The wandering eyes of the front desk secretary, roused from boredom; this might be the most exciting thing she’s seen all day.

A hush that falls over the other people waiting in here, gentle like a whisper, noticeable like the rain; they know this person entering the room, or at the very least they know his name, and for some that amounts to the same thing.

The distinctive rhythm of footsteps he could pick out in his sleep, barely undercutting the general noise of the hospital, more of a feeling than a sound; but then, it always was.

Altogether, it’s objectively not much of anything. Still, Shiro has worked with far less before, has had years of experience chasing after mere slivers of hope, the most fragile remnants of worn-out dreams. Compared to that, this is certainly more than enough to shake him from his thoughts and pull his gaze upward.

His eyes catch on Keith immediately. Not that that would be hard to do, considering the distinctive figure he cuts without even thinking about it. Straight back, thumbs stuck in his pockets, his forward strides quick and purposeful. He’s got that old jacket of his pulled snugly round his shoulders, absolutely unmistakable even across a crowded room. Obviously the red that caught his attention earlier. It’s a small relief to realize that Keith’s looking healthy, and strong, and most of all  _ good _ . Looking so good, so like himself - the familiar sharp angles of his body, the fierce intensity of his gaze - that he almost sticks out in the sterile hospital environment. 

Only a short row of neat stitches an inch above his eyebrow belies the fact that he belonged here too, just a short while ago.

Shiro slowly stands. His stomach swoops as Keith’s steps stutter to a stop in front of him. 

So maybe it’s not a small relief. Maybe it’s actually a really big one.

“Shiro,” Keith says. His eyes look almost bright in the overhead lights. “You’re still here, huh?”

Shiro could stop himself from smiling in answer, if he wanted to. 

Again, though, that question of wanting. The question that isn’t really a question. 

“Of course,” he says. “Where else would I be?”

Keith shrugs, the motion more graceful than it has the right to be. “You seem pretty busy these days.”

Shiro’s smile widens into a grin. “Not too busy to see you finally get out of this hellhole.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitches upward. “Thanks, Shiro,” he says.

Shiro lets his gaze flicker downward, then back up again. “It’s good to have you back, Keith,” he says. He intends it as a routine statement, something between friendly and professional. But it’s Keith he’s talking to, so of course the words come out softer than he meant them to. Tinged with a tenderness that’s lived inside his chest for so long he’d nearly forgotten it was there in the first place. He might be embarrassed by how much the statement resembles a confession, if he’d said it to anyone else.

He didn’t, though, and he’s not embarrassed. Because the answering smile on Keith’s face is small, but it’s real. He’s not fighting it back anymore.

“It’s good to be back,” he says quietly. The words are so familiar it could almost be an inside joke, at this point. If either of them remotely felt like laughing at it.

On a whim, Shiro sticks out his hand. Keith takes it, no hesitation. And Shiro doesn’t hesitate when he pulls him into an embrace, letting his other arm slide into the space just below Keith’s shoulder blades. He cradles their joined hands against his chest, squeezes Keith’s fingers not because he doesn’t think they’ll let go eventually but because he knows that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if they let go now, because that can’t last forever, either. God knows the universe has tried to test that, but this here, the simple weight of Keith’s palm against his, is all the proof anyone needs that it’s true.

Keith notches his chin on Shiro’s shoulder. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

-

The sun hasn’t yet set when they leave the hospital, but it’s starting to. Hazy oranges and yellows streak across the cloudless sky, the hot desert weather of the day just beginning to seep away into something more forgiving. This is definitely one of the things Shiro missed most about the Garrison. He doesn’t think he’s seen a sunset anywhere else, on this planet or off it, that makes him feel more at home.

“So what’s the plan?” he says, tilting his head to catch the answer. “You got monsters to fight on the agenda? Universe-altering revelations to attend to?”

“I should get back to the other paladins as soon as possible,” Keith says, all-business as usual. “Should get back to Voltron, too. There’s - god.” He drags a hand down his face. “There’s so much we need to do.”

“As soon as possible meaning right this second?” Shiro says, raising an eyebrow.

Keith frowns, as if genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“What, no time for dinner?” Shiro presses. “No time to rest, even a little bit?”

Keith scowls. “Shiro, I’ve been resting for  _ ages _ . I don’t need to  _ rest _ anymore. What I need is to  _ do something _ .”

It’s so incredibly typical for him to think that taking the time to recover from several life-threatening injuries is excessive that a helpless sort of fondness wells up in Shiro’s chest.

He’s proud, is the thing. He can’t help that either. Can’t help a lot of things when it comes to Keith, frankly. Can’t help that he admires Keith so much he could burst with it sometimes, as if the world didn’t already know that. As if his very being didn’t already scream it every single day.

Still. There’s Keith’s leadership ability, and then there’s his well-being. Both are equally important to encourage.

“Something,” Shiro says. “Does that mean anything?”

“Shiro - ”

“You haven’t had anything to eat since before noon, I’d bet,” Shiro says lightly. “Come home with me. Have some dinner. You can spare me an hour of your time, right?”

It’s the right thing to say, evidently. This time, Keith doesn’t pause over his answer at all. 

“Of course.” 

He even sounds a little annoyed that Shiro could possibly think otherwise. 

Which probably pleases him more than it should. But he can’t care, at this point. At this point, it kind of feels like he deserves it.

-

They bring takeout back to Shiro’s apartment. He can’t imagine sitting across from Keith at a booth right now. The awkward fidgeting that would entail, the waiting, the silence. But his fridge is embarrassingly empty, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he tried to cook, let alone the last time he actually succeeded. So - compromises.

His place is small enough that the smell of the food permeates the room almost immediately. Hot, greasy, nostalgic in a perfect kind of way. It’s from the Chinese restaurant Shiro used to spend his days as a student at, whenever he needed to get away from the Garrison for a couple hours. The old couple who owns it still knows him from before Kerberos. They’d tossed in some more fortune cookies and gave him a discount on the egg drop soup, just because they remembered his name. He takes a handful of the fortune cookies now -  _ for extra luck _ , they’d said, although what he would use extra luck for these days he honestly can’t imagine - and sets them aside to spread the rest of the food out on the living room table. Fried rice, dumplings, chicken drenched in thick sauce. Just looking at it sharpens the emptiness in his stomach in a way he can’t ignore.

Keith’s already thrown himself back on the couch, splaying a careless arm over the top and letting his legs stretch out in front of him. It’s strangely gratifying that Shiro didn’t have to tell him to make himself at home. He likes it more than he probably has the right to, seeing Keith in his house. Thinking he belongs there, if only for a moment.

Shiro leans back, slowly and deliberately, until he can feel the warmth of Keith’s arm against his shoulder blades.

Keith doesn’t move.

“You want some food?” Shiro says.

Keith brushes his fingertips over Shiro’s arm lightly. “Just - ” He exhales, long and low. “Give me a sec.”

Shiro leans in a little closer to him. Just a little. “Yeah?”

“Weren’t you just saying I should rest?” Keith leans his head back toward the ceiling and closes his eyes. “Gotta pick one or the other, old timer.”

“Can’t I have both? You being well fed  _ and _ well rested?”

“Nope,” Keith says. “Impossible. Never gonna happen.”

“I’ll find a way,” Shiro promises.

Keith’s mouth twitches. He cracks an eye open, directing it at Shiro. “I’d like to see you try.”

Shiro leans in close, letting their sides press together warmly, and doesn’t say a thing. The silence, as always, is a promise of its own.

Keith’s hand moves over Shiro’s shoulder like a ghost. It’s an utterly gentle touch, barely there through the thick fabric of his jacket, yet Shiro feels every inch he traces like an imprint on naked skin. Moving up, up, up. Fingers skim across Shiro’s neck. Brush against his ear. Tangle themselves loosely in Shiro’s hair, as Keith leans their heads together and sighs softly.

Shiro’s eyes slip closed.

“I can’t stay here, Shiro,” Keith says.

“I know,” Shiro says.

“No, you don’t get it,” Keith says, fiercely this time. “I mean -  _ here _ .”

“I do know what you mean.”

A beat of hesitation, rare from Keith. Shiro tries to feel bad about savoring it. 

“Yeah?” Keith says finally.

“I’d never expect you to think of this as a home,” Shiro says, opening his eyes. From the look on Keith’s face, he knows he got it right. Not that he ever doubted it, but it’s always nice to get the confirmation.

“Shiro, I…” Keith falters to a stop, and doesn’t seem to know how to start again.

“Honestly,” Shiro says, “it’s hard for me to call it that, too.”

A truth he hasn’t yet said out loud, before this moment.

Nevertheless, it’s the truth. It’s been years of exploring realms of outer space he hadn’t even known existed, of flying past the stars he’d spent half his lifetime chasing after the mere idea of, fighting a war that’s so intertwined with their daily lives sometimes it almost feels like part of his own heartbeat. Like the drumming in his chest is pushing the instinct to move forward and fight and never look back through his very veins. Some days in space it felt like he hardly knew how to do anything else. 

And now for the first time in god knows how long, he has time to stop and think and breathe, and sometimes he doesn’t even want it.

He thinks if there’s anyone who’ll get that, it’ll be Keith. It has to be; it’s always been him.

Keith swallows. “It’s…” His hand drops back down to Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Shiro smiles gently. “I know that, too.”

“You keep  _ saying _ that,” Keith grits out, like there’s an explosiveness in his words he’s trying to contain. “Do you really, though? Do you really know what it would mean for me to be leaving all the time? Because I’m not going to let anyone stop me from doing that, Shiro. This is - it’s too important.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I do, actually.”

There’s a long pause, as the weight of his words slowly settles over the both of them.

“God.” Keith rubs at his eyes. “Of course you do.”

Shiro reaches over, lets his hand rest lightly on Keith’s knee.

“You don’t owe anything to anyone, Keith,” he says. “Least of all to me. And… It makes me happy. It really does. You belong with Voltron. You belong in the Black Lion.” He lets out a laugh, and hopes it sounds as awed as he feels. “It’s really the most amazing thing to see. I’m lucky that I get to.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. It makes Shiro’s heart twist a little, that he might be surprised to hear words like this. Clearly, Shiro hasn’t said them enough.

He squeezes Keith’s leg. “I just don’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says.

“You’re not,” Keith says.

Shiro swallows. “No?”

“You’ve never been,” Keith says. “Me being with you… That’s always taken me where I need to be.”

There’s a plain conviction in his voice that’s as simple as it is powerful, that leaves behind little room for disbelief simply because it’s apparent Keith believes it that much. Shiro feels the impact of it like being punched in the sternum, solid in his chest. His mind seizes at the words, the fire inside them, and holds it close.

“You being with me,” Shiro echoes. “Is that what this is?”

Keith blinks at him. A smile spreads slowly across his face, small but sure.

“Thought you said you knew everything,” he says softly, in that particular way of his that Shiro has always wanted to claim for his own. Has never known if he could.

“I - ” Shiro doesn’t often find himself at a loss for words, but some small part of him is unsurprised that Keith could steal them away so easily. “Really?”

Keith tightens his grip around Shiro’s arm, pulling him in close. “Yeah,” he says. “You and me. That’s what it’s been this whole time.”

He buries his fingers in Shiro’s hair. Tilts his face up. Brushes his mouth against Shiro’s forehead. Careful as a prayer; careless as a breath.

“And the thing is,” he says, very quietly, “you belong with Voltron, too.”

Something burns inside Shiro’s chest, and expands, and melts. A certain sort of giddiness tingles in his gut, and the unfamiliarity of it leaves him lightheaded. It’s not like he doesn’t allow himself to be happy, but it’s kind of been a while since it just happened on its own.

“That’s all that matters, yeah?” Shiro says, feeling only a little foolish for sounding breathless.

“Obviously,” Keith says. He leans their heads together again, and they’re close enough that Shiro feels his smile more than he sees it.

Unfamiliar this might be, for now. But yeah, he thinks he could get used to it pretty easily.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “So I have a question.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Does all this count as rest?” Shiro says. “Can you eat now? Or am I going to have to force it all down your throat?”

Keith snorts, knocking their temples gently together. He doesn’t bother answering.

For once, Shiro doesn’t mind it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://canonicallyanxious.tumblr.com/) if you’d like!


End file.
